feelings like the shock of an earthquake.

I have too slight acquaintance with the history of the passions to truly
explain the emotion which now throbbed in my veins. I had been a
stranger to what is called love. From subsequent reflection, I have
contracted a suspicion that the sentiment with which I regarded this
lady was not untinctured from this source, and that hence arose the
turbulence of my feelings on observing what I construed into marks of
pregnancy. The evidence afforded me was slight; yet it exercised an
absolute sway over my belief.

It was well that this suspicion had not been sooner excited. Now
civility did not require my stay in the apartment, and nothing but
flight could conceal the state of my mind. I hastened, therefore, to a
distance, and shrouded myself in the friendly secrecy of my own chamber.

The constitution of my mind is doubtless singular and perverse; yet that
opinion, perhaps, is the fruit of my ignorance. It may by no means be
uncommon for men to _fashion_ their conclusions in opposition to
evidence and _probability_, and so as to feed their malice and subvert
their happiness. Thus it was, in an eminent degree, in my case. The
simple fact was connected, in my mind, with a train of the most hateful
consequences. The depravity of Welbeck was inferred from it. The charms
of this angelic woman were tarnished and withered. I had formerly
surveyed her as a precious and perfect monument, but now it was a scene
of ruin and blast.

This had been a source of sufficient anguish; but this was not all. I
recollected that the claims of a parent had been urged. Will you believe
that these claims were now admitted, and that they heightened the